


Picard in a Monk's Costume by Jeanita

by internetname



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3136949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picard in a Monk's Costume by Jeanita

**Author's Note:**

> I and some other P/Q writers enjoy making what we call TrekSmut Illustrated Moments. Costumes are emphasized, and the Picard and Q who appear in the stories are usually not Captain Picard and Q of the Continuum. (We also call these "And Then They Fuck" stories. They're short and fun and give them a try!
> 
> This one is actually authored by Jeanita. She let me put it up on my old site, so I'm hoping it's OK to put it up here. (Jeanita, if you see this, write me! Love to hear from you.)

"Picard in a Monk's Costume" is the second one. I would have liked it a bit nastier, but somehow I couldn't seem to muster them anything but virtuous. 

Picard in a Monk's Costume

by  
Jeanita

 

"Mortify the flesh," Brother John muttered to himself. The rough fabric of his brown monk's habit abraded his skin slightly as he pulled it over his head and dropped it on the ground. Slipping out of his sandals, he dove head-first into the icy water of the newly thawed pond. John was entirely too well educated to think that cold water would have any permanent effect on his desire, but he was desperate enough to try anything. Brother Quentin, visiting from Saint Excelcius Priory, had been in the monastery only three days, but the effect he had on Brother John was devastating. In fact, John couldn't remember being so troubled by anything since learning, upon his father's death, that he shared the fate common to younger sons. Robert had not bothered to hide his gloating as he listened to the solicitor tell him he'd gotten everything, his younger brother, nothing. Turned out, Jean-Luc had joined a monastery, living comfortably with the privation and celibacy, until now. He'd been astonished at himself, but from the moment he'd seen brother Quentin it was as if he'd been struck by lightning. John was not very worldly, but he'd seen drawings of men with other men, and he'd heard, sometimes, late at night, the passionate moans of two brothers alone in the darkness. 

"But why him?" Brother John demanded of himself. Brother Quentin had been kind to him, listening patiently as John ran on, as he sometimes did, about his ideas for improving the aging process for the find brandy the monastery produced. Listening to John's ideas about the world, his idle thoughts and even more idle ambitions, he'd shown no sign of boredom, made no excuse to get away like the other monks sometimes did. 

"And this is how I repay him. By lusting after his flesh. Oh, God!" The very thought of Quentin's flesh sent quicksilver through his veins. Deliberately, he replaced the images in his mind with more sedate ones. Quentin in his long dark robe. Quentin's hairy feet in sandals. Quentin's smile. His long lean body. His full mouth. Quentin kneeling devoutly in prayer, John corrected himself. Quentin at the altar, receiving the host. His eyes alight with the dignity of the ceremony. His mouth opening. His mouth, oh, his mouth... 

Disgusted with himself, Brother John dove into the deepest part of the pond. If only he could leave his disquieting thoughts down here under the water and emerge as pure as a newly baptized baby. He realized he was running out of air, and he fought his way upwards, almost enjoying the ringing in his ears and the lights that exploded behind his eyes. He broke the surface, gasping loudly in the still spring morning. 

Vaguely, he imagined a cry of dismay but thought it must have come from his own lips. John struck out blindly towards shore. When strong arms pulled him out of the water and wrapped his robe around his body he fell into them gratefully, shivering against the solid warmth of the person who held him. He caught his breath, and looked up to thank his savior, only to freeze again, colder than when he had been in the water. 

Brother Quentin stared back at him, looking no less panicked than John felt. "Forgive me, Brother. I did not mean to cause you any alarm." 

"It is the will of God, Brother." Quentin sounded stunned. "At least, I believe it to be." 

John stared up at him doubtfully. What did he mean by such an odd response? "I'm afraid I don't understand." 

Brother Quentin seemed to have trouble speaking. Finally he turned his head, staring fixedly at the dogwood blossoms. "I came out here to clear my heart and my conscience. I have been troubled lately, and I asked the Lord for a sign as to what I should do." 

Here, Quentin blushed dark red, but continued determinedly. I have..." he hesitated, "looked at your wrists coming out of the sleeves of your habit. I have watched the hairs on your chest that peek out from beneath your collar. When we sit down to talk I look at your ear. I watch your hands. I listen for your voice when we sing." 

Quentin's own voice was becoming fainter. John had to strain towards it to hear what he was saying. 

"I came out here to walk by the pond and ask God whether I should leave before I disgraced myself and my House. I asked him for a sign." Quentin's voice grew even more hushed. "And the very moment I asked, I looked down on the ground and saw your robe." 

He forced his eyes to meet Brother John's, his expression beatific. "And then you burst out of the water. And you were naked." 

John stared. Could he truly be in the presence of a miracle? He could scarcely believe it, though Brother Quentin certainly seemed to think so. Was it the will of God that they should feel the identical passion for one another? It was hard to fathom that a humble brother such as himself could receive such divine benediction where he'd expected only censure. 

"I..." he stammered. "I came to the pond to scourge myself of my feelings for you." 

He noticed distantly that his voice was faint. "I didn't want to, but I had no hope that they would be returned. I..." He trailed off, overwhelmed by what he'd just learned. Quentin wanted him? Had prayed to God to know what do do about his feelings? 

John stared into Quentin's troubled brown eyes, wanting to negate their somber expression. 

"We should speak further of this." 

The brown eyes became amused. "Put your robe on. Or I cannot think." John smiled. He unwrapped the coarse garment from around his body and pulled it over his head, pretending to ignore Brother Quentin's shuddering gasp as he stretched his arms overhead. Now that he knew he had time, he could wait for what he wanted. Together, the two brothers turned and walked up the path to the monastery.


End file.
